Control
by arctic-priince
Summary: If there's one thing Kurt has learned from life it's that being in control is more important than anything else. Warning: Eating disorder.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Kurt visits his mother in the hospital he's thirteen and he almost can't bear to look at her. Her face is bloated and pale and there is tube stuck down her throat. Her arms have been placed gently on top of the sheets on each side of her body and there's tubes sticking out from under the blanket they have used to cover her with. And even though she's been sick before, it's different now. So very different.

He can feel a steady pressure building behind his eyes and suddenly he feels ashamed. He doesn't want to cry here, not when his dad is looking more tired than Kurt has ever seen him and the nurses are flitting in and out of the room. So he tries desperately not to look at her, not to _cry_, choosing instead to look at the various tubes and machines that are keeping her alive. The biggest (and noisiest) machine is the only one he actually has the slightest idea how works, because the doctor had sat him down and explained it to him in gentle, simple words. As far as he had understood, the machine was cleaning her blood so the kidneys didn't have to work so hard, or something like that. Dialysis, he thinks they called it.

There are other things connected to her as well. Disgusting things. And Kurt almost throws up once he realizes what the two bags at the end of her bed is. He should have thought about it, it's not like she can actually go to the toilet while she's unconscious, but still. It's his mom. She's not supposed to helpless like this.

Kurt is so focused on his own thoughts that he doesn't even realize his dad has moved closer to him before he feels a warm weight his shoulder and his dad is whispering into his ear. His big, strong father who was sobbing into his hands not twenty minutes ago.

"It's okay to cry, Kurt"

And that is all it takes. Before he knows it he is crying, sobbing, and clutching his mothers hand to his chest. Desperately hoping for her to wake up, too look at him, to_ hold _him. _Anything_. Because he just isn't ready to lose her yet. It's too soon. He's too young. _She's_ too young.

He can feel his father embracing him from behind, kissing his hair and murmuring reassuring words. It's going to okay, he says. It'll be alright. Kurt doesn't believe him, but he stays quiet anyway. Because even though he doesn't believe his father right now he wants it too be true more than he has ever wanted anything in his entire life.

Eventually Kurt stops crying and Burt drives them both home. After brewing a cup of hot chocolate his father sits him down and explains the situation to him. Kurt learns that all of this is caused by his mother's diabetes acting up. She'd gotten a serious infection that had caused liquid to gather around her lungs and heart, and at the same time, her kidneys had started failing. And because of her diabetes, her body was having trouble keeping the infections away. The doctors were going to go all out with medicine and twenty-four hour dialysis to see if they could stop the infection, but if she didn't get better in a few days, she probably wouldn't get better at all.

After that Kurt is left alone to digest the information, and there is one thing that stands out in what his father's just told him. This was caused by diabetes. **Diabetes**. His mother had always been chubby, and Kurt had always known that she had the illness. But she wasn't really fat or anything and she had type two, which was supposed to be the least dangerous one, right? To be honest Kurt thought that his mother would be fine as long as she didn't become grossly obese. Clearly, he had been wrong because now she was in the hospital._ Dying_.

That night Kurt sits on his laptop the entire night looking up information on diabetes and the results are staggering.

"..we know today that genetics have a far stronger influence in type 2 diabetes than in type 1 diabetes."

"…Diabetes is a serious condition"

"… if it is not well controlled it can lead to problems with blood pressure, the circulation, and trouble with the diabetic retinopathy and the kidneys."

"…There is also a strong inheritable genetic connection in type 2 diabetes: having relatives (especially first degree) with type 2 increases risks of developing type 2 diabetes very substantially."

He continues by frantically looking into how to prevent it, and realizes that he needs to avoid sugar and calories. He doesn't quite understand how it works, but he knows that sugar gives you diabetes and calories make you fat. He writes up a list of safe food in his diary and all the calories they contain. Cucumbers and celery is good, chocolate and pizza is bad. Kurt then goes through the entire kitchen checking out what food is all right to eat and what isn't. And all the things that don't have the calories written on them he writes down, so he can check it out later.

He's found this great site on the net where you can ask people how many calories things has and they'll answer right away. It's one of those sites that he's been warned about in school. ProAna, they call it, and it's supposedly dangerous. Kurt figures it's alright, though. After all he isn't anorexic and he is only looking to become a little healthier. Lose some weight. He writes down a few of the diets written on the page before turning off the computer and getting ready for bed. He washes his face and goes through his moisturizing routine like normal. He then proceeds to take off all his clothes and for the first time in his life Kurt looks at himself in the mirror and sees only fat. His hips are too big and his stomach is disgusting and flabby. The bullies at school is right, he thinks; he **is** chubby. In fact, he looks a lot like his mother. And suddenly that thought terrifies him.

He needs to get healthier.

_Better._

**Skinnier.**


	2. Chapter 2

The next days are spent at the hospital by his mothers bed, holding her hand or stroking her hair. Crying. There's lots of crying. At least in the beginning. Now he just feels more numb than anything. Dissociated. Like he can't truly comprehend the seriousness of the situation or the fact that his mother's unmoving on a hospital bed. And she isn't getting better. In fact she's getting worse and Kurt knows exactly what that means.

He has seen his father talking to his mothers doctor with tear-filled eyes and knows it's just a matter of time. And when his father finally sits down and tells him the truth, one hand on Kurts shoulder, Kurt doesn't cry. He thinks that the knowledge that his mother probably won't make it through the weekend should evoke some feeling from him, but it doesn't. Instead he keeps thinking of other things. Like how awkward it will be to return to school after the holidays and finally see his friends again only to tell them his mother's dead. Or what he'll do now, when he answers the phone and the person on the other end confuses him for his mother. He can almost imagine the conversation; "No, she's dead. This is her son." He almost laughs out loud at that, but manages to control himself. Instead he feels silently grateful for the feeling of detachment and pats his fathers hand awkwardly as the older man cries.

Kurt dislikes the hospital. In fact he would almost go as far as to say he hates it. He hates the white walls and the nice nurses, but most of all he hates the smell. It smells disinfectant, yes, but in his mothers room there also a slightly sweet, nauseous smell of illness. He'd tried smelling his mother once, lying almost on top of her pressing his nose into her neck, and it had smelled nothing like her. It's like the hospital had taken everything away from her; her dignity, her home, her family and even something as mundane as her smell.

Still, as much as Kurt hates the hospital, the time spent at home with his father, just the two of them, is even worse.

Whenever Burt isn't crying or talking about his wife, he spends hours drinking staring blankly at the television. He barely even looks at Kurt anymore aside from the occasional comforting gesture and Kurt comes to the realization that he doesn't really know how to talk to his dad. Not without his mother there. She had been the one thing bringing them together, Kurt and Burt not really having anything in common, and now that they were losing her their relationship was falling apart.

The only positive thing with this new development is the fact that his father is too distracted to make dinner, usually ordering some junk food and leaving Kurt to fend for himself. So while his father is drinking himself into a stupor Kurt is dealing with his anxiety in a much more healthy and effective manner. His plans of dieting has been going great so far. Not only does it keep his mind occupied, it's helping him lose weight as well. It was a win/win situation.

Kurts diet so far consisted on eating low carb food and keeping his calorie intake to maximum a 1000 a day. Hopefully less than that. Kurt had even bought himself a notebook where he kept tabs on how much he was eating in terms of calories as well as his weight and BMI. At 116 pounds Kurt had a BMI of 27 wich put him in the "overweight" category and he was determined to get down to at least 90 pounds. He could start eating more again when his body was down to a more healthy weight, but for now skipping his meals was the most effective way to go. Not too mention, with his father not paying him any attention it was easy to go the day without eating much at all. The last two days Kurt had managed to keep his calories to 429 and 687, meaning he had only eaten 1116 calories in two days which was quite the achievement. Kurt was also starting to notice that not eating was surprisingly easy once you came into the right rhythm. It was almost soothing, and Kurt felt more in control of his feelings now than he had ever done before.

"Fuck!"

Kurt is pulled out of his thoughts by his fathers cursing and quickly puts the notebook in his drawer before jumping up the stairs leading up from his basement. He follows the sound of his fathers cursing and finds him in the kitchen, surrounded by shattered pieces of glass. The older man is leaning against the counter-top holding a bleeding hand to his chest, still cursing silently. Kurt enters the kitchen while carefully avoiding the splintered pieces of glass.

"Dad? Are you all right?"

No answer. Kurt frowns a little, worried, moving even closer to his father.

"Does it hurt?"

It's a dumb question, he knows, but he's desperate for a little attention. Just some acknowledgment that the older man has heard him. However, his father is steadfastly ignoring him and Kurt hesitantly places a hand on his fathers shoulder, close enough now to feel the alcohol in his breath. Kurt expects his father too look at him, and maybe to be a little annoyed but the reaction he gets makes Kurt wish his father had ignored him instead as he is pushed away harshly, stumbling as he tries to regain his balance.

"Dad?"

That, apparently, is all it takes for Burt Hummel to snap. A broken glass, a bleeding hand and the pitying eyes of his son and weeks of worry is manifesting itself into something ugly and destructive. Kurt just stands there, stunned into silence, the feeling of broken glass digging into his bare feet.

"Do I look like I'm fucking okay to you?"

His fathers words are heavy with alcohol and Kurt covers, backing away.

"Does it hurt?" Burts voice is high in a cruel parody of Kurt's previous question and Kurt feels sick.

"Of course it fucking hurts! You're thirteen, stop asking such stupid questions. My wife is in the hospital dying, of course I'm not fucking okay!" His father is getting more and more worked up and Kurt just stands there, helpless, trying to ignore the steady pressure building behind his eyes. How did it even turn out like this? What was he supposed to do when his father was bleeding in the kitchen? Ignore it? Usually his mother would deal with it, but now that she was gone Kurt seemed to be taking over most of her chores and it had seemed like the right thing to do.

Before he can formulate a reply, however, the phone is ringing, breaking the dangerous atmosphere, and Kurt has never been more relieved. Burt seems stunned for a moment, looking at Kurt with an expression he can't quite decipher, before running off to answer murmuring at Kurt to clean up the mess.

Kurt stands there for a second, just breathing in deep, before heaving himself up on the kitchen counter to free his throbbing feet of the pressure. He cradles his foot in his hand trying to pull out the glass without hurting himself further. However, without anything but his shaking hands to aid him with the tiny pieces, it's a long process and he is still sitting there when his father reenters the kitchen. For a second, Kurt is scared and ready to explain why he hasn't cleaned up the pieces yet, but the look on his fathers face stops him. There is nothing of the previous rage left and Burt suddenly looks more tired than anything. Sad. He takes one look at Kurts feet and closes his eyes breathing out heavily.

"Kurt.. I.. Did I do that?" Kurt stays silent, not sure what to say, but Burt doesn't seem to expect an answer anyway. He strides over the glass putting a gentle hand on Kurts shoulder, his expression screaming remorse.

"I'm so sorry; Kurt. I-I.. I was just really stressed out and I took it out on you… I mean, that's no excuse.. I just.." His father looks ready to cry and Kurt almost wishes he was angry again because he doesn't know how to deal with this. After a few second of silence, Kurt realizes he should probably say something and tries to sound as forgiving and reassuring as possible.

"It's o-okay. I know you didn't mean it." His father still doesn't seem pleased, though, and Kurt desperately tries to change the subject.

"So what was that call about? Was it the hospital?" It takes Kurt approximately a nano-second to realize that if he wanted his father to stop being sad, talking about that phone call was the worst thing he could have possible done. His fathers face had gone from being remorseful to full out devastated and Kurt could feel his chest tightening.

"Dad? Is it mom? Is she..?" Burt stays silent before patting him on the shoulder;

"Lets go to the living room.. Are you okay to walk?" Burt is gesturing at his feet, the look of regret back on his face. Kurt ignores the fact that his father didn't actually answer his question before shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not sure.. "

It's the truth. His feet is throbbing and he is scared that walking will press the glass further into his flesh making it even harder to remove later. His father seems to be contemplating something for a minute, before he grabs Kurt and promptly lifts him up into Burts arms.

"I'll just have to carry you then"

Kurt is shocked for a brief moment before throwing his arms around his fathers shoulders when he starts moving. He would never admit it but after all the distance between them and their recent fight, being close to his father like this feels really good. It kind of feels like it used to. Back when his mother was healthy and Burt had been this big, unmovable rock. Back when he still thought his father was invincible and somehow not human. Back when he thought his mother would live forever. Back when he still felt he was special and beautiful because his parents said so. It suddenly seemed like such a long time ago. Seemed naïve.

They finally reached the living-room and he squeaked a bit as his father not-so-gently dropped him on the sofa. Burt stretched his arms out once, laughing a little.

"Wheew! You've definitely put on some weight since last time I carried you around like this! I remember when you were so tiny I could carry you on one arm! Now I can barely lift you from one room to another.."

His father his smiling sadly, nostalgia painting his face and Kurt tries to smile back. He really does. It's just that the comment stings. It feels like a punch in the stomach, because it's _true_. He used to be skinny and he can't remember when he became such a glutton. When he started to let food control him. Kurt wants to be skinny again. When he gets a boyfriend he doesn't want to be the ugly, fat one in their relationship. He wants his boyfriend to be able to carry him to bed without wheezing like he's just ran a marathon. If he can even lift Kurt at all. Now, Kurt isn't stupid. He may be fat, but he's not stupid. He understands that his father didn't say it to be mean. On the contrary he had said it to lighten the athmosphere and clear the air between them which is why Kurt says nothing and smiles.

After a moment of silence Burts face goes serious again and Kurt can feel the couch dip as his father sits down next to him. This is it. He just knows it. This is the moment where his life changes forever. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his father shifting slightly and he is close enough to hear the hitch in his breath when Burt speaks.

"Kurt. Your mother.. Theresa.. She" He pauses for a second and Kurt almost laughs at how dramatic it seems. Almost. He feels detached again. Lost.

"She passed away."


	3. Chapter 3

The ride to the hospital is spent in deafening silence. Burt is concentrating on the road and Kurt puts all his attention into removing the pieces of glass from his feet. They don't cry. Kurt feels like he should, but there is a part of him that is still desperately trying to keep up facades. To pretend that he's fine. That this isn't breaking his heart and that he's a big boy now. Which is silly, because he is pretty sure that if there was ever a time were it was all right to cry it would be now.

They arrive at the hospital after a few more minutes of tense silence. And as they enter Kurt feels blinded by the white walls. His entire body is frozen and he is shivering badly. He feels disoriented and dizzy; the only thing keeping him grounded being the sharp pain radiating from his feet. Burt seems to notice and grabs Kurt's hand as they enter the intensive care unit. The place where is mothers body is now lying dead and cold and broken. Before he knows it they're being taken aside by a doctor who apologizes and Kurt can hear the man talking, but is unable to really comprehend what he is saying. And then, finally, they're guided to her hospital room and the door is being slid open. Nothing could ever have prepared Kurt from what he would see then.

The hospital room is different from the last time they were here. All the machines are gone and the light has been dimmed. By the bed is a vase with flowers and a few lit candles. And, in the middle of the room, is his mother. Her body is completely still under the covers, the only thing moving being the light from the candle dancing over her face. They've put make-up on her, Kurt notices, and she looks more like his mother now than she has for months. She looks _beautiful_. There's only one thing wrong with the picture and that's how her chest is completely unmoving. The undisputable proof of her passing. He doesn't say anything as his father starts crying, _sobbing_, next to him practically lying on top of his wife. Burt keeps stroking her hair and kissing her face. Kurt doesn't know how long he stands there just watching his mothers face in silence before his father is cupping his face and talking to him in a hitched voice.

"Do.. Do you want some time alone…? I mean, to say goodbye and stuff. " Kurt doesn't answer but his father leaves the room anyway closing the door behind him and suddenly Kurt is alone with the body. And really, that's all it takes before he's crying, feeling the wetness on his cheeks like through a trance. He walks over to the bed and hesitantly touches her hand. She is cold. He should have expected it, they always point that out in movies, but it comes as a shock anyway. He grabs her hand and squeezes it before trying to place it on his own shoulder, like she used to, but the hand falls down immediately. Lax and heavy. Dead weight. Later he'll look back and think about how fucked up he was acting at this moment, but right now he doesn't care. He just wants to feel her reassuring hands on his body again. He desperately curls her fingers around his own and keeps them like that; giving the illusion that she really is squeezing his hand back. He then half lies on top of her burying his face in her neck, hair and chest wanting to feel her, but somehow it's not _working_. It's like her presence is gone and being close to her stopped being satisfying. There is emptiness in the room that is scaring him more than anything has ever done before. He feels frustrated and angry and sad and the emotions are all so overwhelming and contradictory that Kurt feels suffocated. But there is one feeling that is making him more disgusted than all the other ones put the together. It's only a tiny part of him, but for just one second Kurt is just a little bit relieved it's finally over. He hates himself for that.

-

After that everything is a blur. Looking back Kurt can't for the life of him remember what happened between crying over his mother body and lying in his bed back home. He's pretty sure there were some more doctors and crying and that he managed to choke out a goodbye to his mom before they left, but that's it. Kurt sits on his bed, staring at the wall, his hands clutching at the hem of a big t-shirt. He feels numb. In this kind of painful way, like when you've been out too long in the snow and you can't feel your feet anymore and you realize that's probably a bad sign. He's sitting with his knees tucked under his chin, a position that always makes him feel just a little less vulnerable, and he can feel his stomach fat pushing against his legs. It's disgusting and makes the position awkward. Which pretty much sums up how he feels about himself at the moment. And that's what he ends up thinking about. Because it's either thinking about his mom and how she's _dead_ or his dad and how he's _drinking_ or it's thinking about himself and how he _sucks_. It's not a hard choice at all and only the third one is even remotely productive. At least it's within his control, it's something he can work at and _change_.

He takes of his t-shirt, leaving him in only his boxers, and folds it before getting up from the bed, settling on the floor in front of his full-body mirror. And then he just looks. Looks, and maps out every flaw he can possibly find: He's too fat. Especially around the stomach and his hips. He has a mole under his knee that's really ugly and his skin is too dry. Except on his face where it's too greasy. His hands are pudgy and not elegant at all and his nose is too big. His cheeks make him look like some sort of disfigured hamster and his hair is an unruly mop. He continues like this for hours. Picking at his skin and pinching his fat, making notes. Inspiration for the next time he feels like eating a cookie. Or skipping his skin-care ritual. He hadn't started his diet to change his looks. Not really, but it was a pleasant side effect and a great motivator to stay on it. Kurt understands that he'll never be beautiful, and that's okay, he just doesn't want to be _ugly_.

In the end he falls asleep like that. Lying half naked in front of his mirror, alone and cold. The floor is hard and smells like dust, but he doesn't move to his bed. Doesn't want to be comfortable. He's not sure why. Maybe it's a punishment or maybe he just wants his body to match the cold, painful numbness of his mind. That could be it. There's a dissonance between his body and his mind and it's unsettling him.

He wakes up a meager two hours later, his neck and body aching and shivering from the cold. And even though he can't explain it, the pain feels kind of good. Distracting. He gets up from the floor and grabs a big sweater before trudging up the stairs in an attempt to find his father. He does find him and pretty quickly too. Lying on the couch next to pile of vomit and half a dozen bottles of booze that Kurt doesn't recognize the name of. Kurt doesn't know how to feel about it at all. On one hand he really doesn't want to face his father, but on the other hand anything got to better than this. He enters the room, avoiding the disgusting puddle on the floor, and hesitantly checks his fathers pulse and breathing. It's fine. He's fine. Then he stares at the bottles, and for a second he's almost a little tempted to bring some of the full ones down to his room and follow his father's example. Drown his sorrows. But he's still conscious of his health. And of how unhealthy alcohol is for your body and how it would go against everything he is been trying to achieve with his new diet. But it _is_ tempting. Especially since an entire day of no food is starting to make Kurt feel the hunger burn in his stomach and he knows the alcohol would quench it. But he's not going to give in. No way. He can do this. So instead of picking up a bottle or entering the kitchen he leaves the room and goes back to his basement and writes a list.

_20 reasons why I shouldn't eat or drink tonight. _


	4. Chapter 4

113,4. 113. 112,9. 112,7.

Kurt looks at the illuminated numbers on the weight beneath him, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as the numbers finally stops flashing.

**112.4 **

It has been 3 weeks since the day that changed everything. 21 days since he started his new life and made a decision to become a better person. More beautiful. In control. 504 hours since he'd been sitting on his bedroom floor with bleeding feet and a growling stomach in a house that smelled like alcohol. Some things have changed since then. He's started school again, kind of, and the bullies have laid off him for the most part. Turns out that even the worst sort of people have some sympathy after all. Who'd have guessed? Not that he's been in school enough to really test that theory; he's only stopped by a few days and accepted the condolences from his not-really-friends. Talked to the guidance counselor. It hadn't helped much. But the biggest, most significant change (aside from his mother, but tries not to think about that) is thanks to his diet.

112.4

He's lost 24 pounds in the last few weeks and, physically, he's never felt better. And not just because of the decrease in fat either. There is something incredible about starving in itself. An extreme sense of accomplishment every time he manages to ride out a wave of hunger without eating anything or when he passes a bakery and keeps walking despite the tempting smell of newly baked caked. It's amazing to know that he has this amount of self-control; that he can override his body's most basic needs without too much difficulty. And after about a day of no food, it gets even _better_. He'll feel lightheaded and dizzy, all the anxiety and sorrow turned into a dull throb instead of the steady piercing pain as is usual now a days. It's intoxicating and distracting and can get his mind away from the reality of his current situation better than anything else.

And he really needs that now. The distraction. Because even though some things have changed since that day, some things really _haven't_. The heavy smell of alcohol is still lingering in the house. There are still empty bottles of booze covering every surface of the living room: the place that has become his father's favorite resting place. His body is still slumped over the couch, his eyes staring vacantly at some sports game, not really seeing anything. And he almost never speaks or touches Kurt. Hardly even looks at him. And when he does, it's usually in anger or frustration, often followed by cruel words. It's hard. It is so _incredibly_ hard, still, and Kurt has no belief that things will change soon, if ever. He's not that naïve anymore. It's only been 3 weeks, but it's more than enough for Kurt to grow up. He doesn't feel like a thirteen-year-old anymore. He feels aged, different and alone; even more isolated from his peers than he did before. They don't understand anything. Most of them haven't even lost their grandparents yet, how could they possibly understand what losing your most important person is like? They _can't_. They _think_ they can imagine it, but Kurt knows now that grief is something you need to experience to understand. He'd though that he knew what losing a parent would feel like, had entertained the idea several times, but the reality had been stunningly different.

For a long time Kurt had thought that grief would feel like sadness and sorrow, and that would be it. That he'd cry and things would suck for a while, but ultimately nothing more drastic would happen. Now he thinks that grief is so much more than that. Grief is having to change your entire worldview, your life, to try and fill up a spot that's been suddenly vacated. It doesn't just taint the present, but the future and even the past. Every single thing he has ever said to her seems to be of great significance now. The past has become extremely important all of a sudden, in a way it's never been before. There are so many regrets and should-have's that keep swirling around in his head. He should have been there more. Should have helped out more. Just before she got sick he had been pulling away, trying to act like an adult, and that was something he regretted more than anything now that she was gone. But there's also the future to think about. Kurt had all these images, like everyone else, of what his life would be like. Suddenly that life seems drastically different. In his future his mother was supposed to be there for all the big days. She was the one that he'd wanted to come out to first; she would have understood and would have helped him break the news to his dad. They were supposed to talk about boys and she would have helped him dress up for his first date. She was supposed to be there for every Christmas and birthday and every other day until he graduated high school and moved to NY. She was supposed to be at his wedding, bright and beautiful and so _proud_ of him. Now, Kurt tries not to think about the future at all, because he can't for the life of him imagine it.

No one he knows really understands this at school. They try to, but ultimately it obvious they have no clue what they're talking about. This is exactly the reason why, after 30 minutes with the guidance councilor, he'd agreed to go to a grief support meeting for teenagers. He's not sure he knows what to expect, a life of disappointments has taught him not to be hopeful, but at the very least it's an excuse to leave home without having to go to school. He'd agreed to it pretty quickly then, but now, standing naked in the bathroom with only an hour until he's supposed to at the hospital he's starting to feel anxious. It's a feeling he's been getting increasingly used to over the past 3 weeks. That uncomfortable tightening in his chest and the sound and feel of his heartbeat reverberating through his entire body in a way it doesn't when he's calm. The shortness of breath and the way his ears become filled with white noise, _static_, making him unable to hear anything else. He hates that feeling. It's the opposite of control; it's everything he's working so hard to get rid of in himself. It's insecurity and fear and unhelpful irrationality.

Kurt slowly steps off the weight and reaches for his clothes, folded and ready on the toilet seat beside him. He inhales steadily and purposefully and tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking. He is _doing_ this, god damn it. He _can_ do it, despite the fact that his body seems adamant about stopping him. Sabotaging him. And that's kind of the story of his life isn't it? Kurt hates his body, the way it feels and reacts and looks and just, _everything_ about it. It's his biggest enemy right now and Kurt has no idea how to fight something that is such an integral part of him. After a moment of panic, he forces himself to take deep breaths through his nose and sits down on the floor whispering softly and desperately. _I'm in control. I can do this. It's my body and I'm in control of it. _ He hasn't eaten in 34 hours and he should be fine for now. He should be able to fight off the panic. He is in control.

Kurt doesn't know how long he sits there on the bathroom floor mumbling to himself before he can feel his breath slowing down to a more normal rhythm. It feels like an eternity, but he's guessing, _hoping_, that it's only been a few minutes. He gets up slowly and picks up his meticulously folded sweater, pulling it over his head. It's a little big for him now, not hugging his body the way it used to, but that's good. It's a good thing. Even if the fashionable clothes don't sit the way they're supposed to on his body anymore. He has made a promise with himself; he will not buy any new clothing until he's down to a satisfactory weight. It will be a reward, an _inspiration_, and he's just going to have to wear something that's a little baggy until then. Besides, tight fitting clothes would look awful while he's still this fat. Hopefully they won't say anything at the meeting. It's for grief support; they're not going to be judging his clothes. Hopefully. When Kurt has finished dressing he turns and looks at himself in the full-length mirror. His hair is perfectly combed, swept back just a bit, and he's wearing a simple sky-blue cashmere sweater and some not-so-skinny jeans. He picks a little at the sweater, unhappy about the way his stomach protrudes, before shaking his head and exiting the bathroom. It will have to do. The bag he's chosen to bring is pretty big and he can keep it on his lap in a way that covers his stomach. No one will have to see. _It'll be okay._

After a few last-minute adjustments to his hair he picks up the dark-blue bag and hurries upstairs, eager to get out of the house while he still has the guts. He quickly ducks his head into the living room to say goodbye to the other occupant of the house. Burt seems surprisingly sober and Kurt is pleasantly surprised by his fathers request to be careful and to call him if something happens at the meeting. Kurt briefly considers congratulating his dad on not drinking, but thinks better of it, choosing instead to leave with a wave and a quick I love you. He smiles a little to himself and hums softly as he starts the ten-minute walk to the hospital where the meeting will be held.

He arrives at Lima memorial ten minutes early, which is probably a good thing, since he's managed to forget the note he'd written with the room number and how to get there. He desperately tries to remember, but his brain comes up blank and he can feel his breath shortening again and his pulse quickening. He did it. He got here. He can't back down now. _Come one, Kurt. You can just ask for help_. Kurt takes a deep, unsteady, breath and hoists his bag further up on his shoulder before walking over the area labeled information. There's no line and he soon finds himself face to face with a middle aged women with a kind smile and big dark eyes. She looks a bit like his mom. Kurt wants to cry.

"Can I help you, sweetie?" Her voice is soothing and patient. Kurt just looks at her for a moment before speaking, praying that his voice won't shake as much his hands.

"Uhm. I'm here for a grief support meeting. I-I forgot where it was and I just-just wondered if you might know where it is, or something…" He trails off, suddenly feeling stupid and inadequate. Young. He hates feeling young.

"Of course. The support meetings are in room 122, just around the corner there." She smiles reassuringly and points down the hallway to his right. He quickly thanks her and walks in the direction she pointed out, feeling gradually more nauseas with every step. It only takes a minute before he's standing in front of a big white door, the numbers 122 staring back at him in black letters. He can hear voices coming from the inside and suddenly this feels like a bad idea. What if they laugh at him, or even worse, what if he has the wrong room and he ends up sitting through a support meeting for drug addicts or something. He's awful with numbers, he'd even failed a geometry test last year, and every since _that day_ he's been terribly forgetful. Had the lady really said 122? Maybe it had been 112? Maybe it was something else entirely. Before he can panic any further, however, there's a heavy weight on his shoulder and Kurt nearly screams until he realizes that he's at a hospital and that would probably get him more than a little unwanted attention.

"Hey. You're Kurt Hummel, right? The new kid." The voice coming from behind him his hoarse and dark and Kurt inhales shakily before turning around to face the mysterious boy. He is suddenly face to face (or face to chest, really, if he were being honest) with a blond, young man. Kurt guesses he's in his late teens and he has short, dirty blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes. He's pretty average looking with a slightly crooked nose and a strong chin. He's not strikingly handsome, not even close, but Kurt has a feeling that he probably has no problems getting the girls. It takes him a moment to realize that the boy(man?) in front of him is still awaiting a reply and Kurt blushes a little before answering.

"Y-yes, that's me. Uhm, Is this…?" He gestures vaguely towards the door behind him and curses his inability to hold a conversation while nervous.

"Yeah, you've got the right room. Relax. I'm Troy, by the way. Michael, the group leader, told us about you last time so that's how I knew your name. Sorry if I freaked you out or something. " The boy, Troy, smiles at him and Kurt can feel some of his anxiousness leave his body.

"Let's go in. Wouldn't want them to start without us, huh?" Kurt stays silent, but follows the older boy as he opens the door and enters. Troy immediately greets one of the other members (patients? Supporters?) Kurt just stands there for a moment, startling a little as the door clicks shut behind them and takes everything in. The room is surprisingly cozy, decorated in different hues of red and brown. There's a table in the middle with some water and juice and some cookies for those that might want it. It looks nothing like the white rooms he's used to seeing in movies; with plastic chairs in a ring and everyone looking grim and uncomfortable. In fact there are only five other people there and they look surprisingly comfortable with each other. They're laughing and smiling or just listening to each other talk. Kurt doesn't know what to think. He doesn't get much to dwell on it, however, before a man in his mid-forties is standing in front of Kurt and firmly shaking his hand.

"Hello. I'm Michael; the group leader. It's nice to meet you, Kurt, I hope you'll be comfortable here." The older mans grip is strong and confident and Kurt automatically likes him.

"I see you've already met Troy. That's great! Why don't you sit down next to him and we'll have some introductions." Kurt nods before timidly sitting down next to the blond boy, placing his bag by his feet. That's the good thing about tables; no one can see your stomach. After a couple of seconds Michael claps his hands, getting everyone's attention.

"Hey, guys. Today we have a new member. His name is Kurt Hummel and I hope you'll all welcome him." Kurt blushes as the five teenagers all turn to look at him, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

"We're 11 people in the group in total, but there's usually someone who's absent so there's normally only about five or six in each meeting. I get that you're still a little nervous-" understatement of the year "-so why don't we introduce our selves first and we can end with your story, Kurt. Just a quick introduction. " Michael smiles at him, his expression strangely calming, before he gestures towards a blond-haired girl sitting opposite Kurt.

"Do you want to start, Marina?" The girl nods with a small 'sure' and Kurt shifts his attention to her as she starts talking. She's what he would describe as geeky-looking, _chubby_, the kind of girl he would expect to see in a library wearing some hideous sweater. Her hair is a mess and Kurt has to bite his tongue not to point out that the fake, washed out, hair-color is not at all flattering, but he stays silent and gives her a small smile instead.

"Well, uhm, My name is Marina. I'm sixteen years old and I've been going here for a couple of months." Her voice is quiet, but kind, and Kurt feels a little guilty about his previous thoughts.

"My dad died 9 months ago. Pancreatic cancer. So right now it's just me, mom and my two brothers. They're all wonderful, but I'm the oldest sibling and I really needed a place to, I don't know, went I guess? Anyway; my mom thought going to a support meeting was a good idea so I went. It turned out to be surprisingly helpful, so here I am." She laughs a little awkwardly and Kurt can see a light sheen of tears in her eyes. He doesn't know what to say. He feels strangely moved. He doesn't know her at all and yet she suddenly feels more like a kindred spirit than any of the kids at school. Like maybe, if he explained how he felt, she would really _get_ it. He's not sure if it's a good feeling or not. He's dragged out of his thoughts, however, as the Latina girl next to Marina starts talking. She seems like Marina's opposite; a typical popular girl. She's absolutely stunning, dark wavy hair and a perfectly symmetrical face. Thin.

"Santana Lopez. Fourteen." Where Marina's voice had been full of emotion, Santana's is harsh and indifferent; her eyebrows raised in way that's clearly meant to say 'I'm too cool for this shit'.

"My sister offed herself two years ago. My dad didn't think I was 'processing my grief' or some bullshit, so he said I either had to go here or to a shrink or he'd take my phone away. I don't even know, I'm just here cause of that so don't expect me to cry or something."

There's some silence after that and Kurt twists his hands in his lap as Santana seems to really look at him for the first time. Her eyes skim over his body once, the parts of it she can see anyway, before she gives a small smirk. It makes Kurt feel flushed and slightly nauseas again and he's happy for the distraction as the silence is broken by a boy in black. His name is Jack. He's 17 and lost his mother to breast cancer a year ago. It then moves on to another girl, a redhead this time, named Jacqueline. Apparently her brother had died in a motorcycle accident 3 years ago. There's only one person, Troy, left now before him and Kurt is starting to feel more than a little anxious. Well,_ more_ anxious. Because the thing is; he's not sure if he can talk about his mom's death without crying and aside from Marine's glossy eyes, none of the members so far have cried. How humiliating would that be, to be the only one crying? Not only is he the youngest one there, he would be forever known as the crybaby. He can feel his cheeks burning at the thought and he straightens his pants self-consciously. Then he's forced to pay attention again as Troy turns his body towards him and starts talking.

"Well, you already know my name, but I'll say it anyway. My name is Troy Jackson, I'm sixteen years old and I'm here because my father died four months ago and I became an emancipated minor. I'm an only child and my mother is someone that I really don't want or need in my life right now. For various reasons. It was pretty hard without any sort of support system so that's why I'm here." Troy smiles at him reassuringly and Kurt is amazed by the boy's ability to be that collected while telling a story that tragic. Kurt has no idea what he would have done if he lost both his parents like that. Now if only he can manage to talk with half as much calm he will be fine. Kurt takes a deep breath, hyperaware of all the people waiting for him to say something and jumps a little as Troy lays his hand on Kurt's thigh. Kurt figures that the gesture is meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes him more nervous. Knowing that Troy, who is charming and kind-of-cute, can feel all the fat on his thighs is horrifying and it's making concentrating really hard. He doesn't say anything though, opting to give the blond boy a tentative smile before speaking instead.

"My name is Kurt Hummel. I'm thirteen, so I g-guess I'm younger than most of you guys." Troy's hand is still a heavy on his leg and it's getting more and more distracting. Under other circumstances Kurt would be thrilled at the attention, but right not it's just really unhelpful. He fixes his hair in nervousness and only continues after Michael gives him a small nod.

"Well, my mom died three weeks ago from c-complications of diabetes. I'm an only child so it's only me and my dad now. My guidance councilor thought this meeting would be something I might like and I really needed an excuse to get out of the house, so… " He trails off and thanks God that he managed to get it out without crying or stammering to badly. Then he feels Troy's hand finally moving away from him and breathes out silently in relief.

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. Kurt stays silent and no-one pushes him to share again. He keeps zooming in and out during their conversations, suddenly feeling way too tired to really pay attention. He feels like he's in a fog and he can only get vague ideas of what they're talking about. Its' not an entirely unpleasant feeling and Kurt guesses that his diet may be a reason. When the meeting is finished and he's exiting the hospital after a quick goodbye to everyone and exchanging numbers with Troy('Maybe we can hang out someday?') he notices that he feels oddly accomplished and more than a little vulnerable. Like he's just exposed a huge part of himself just by being there. And, he figures, that might be true. There was an oddly intimate atmosphere in that room and from the second he'd entered he had felt like he was walking into another dimension. Like everyone could see right trough him. It's not like the meeting had made him feel all that much better or anything, though. It hadn't fixed him. He hadn't felt a sudden and strong sense of belonging. It hadn't felt awesome. But it hadn't felt _bad_ either, and right now, that felt like a victory.


End file.
